


Making a Splash

by ifishouldvanish



Series: Boston Hour 'Verse [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 17:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15824061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: Boston Hour Ficlet: Rumford lets himself feela littlevery sexy in the tub after his call with Belle. ;)





	Making a Splash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdrumple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdrumple/gifts).



> So… while I was writing the latest chapter of TBH, it went in this smutty direction that I didn't quite want to include in the main story. I decided to polish it off and share it though cause I was having fun with it. And also because my pal @nerdrumple and I firmly believe in more masturbation in fic. Like, the fun-lovin', self-carin' kind and not the sad, lonely, feel-ashamed-afterwards kind!!! (because _boooo, hiss)_
> 
> Anyway, here's Rumford wanking, for y'all's reading pleasure.

_“I’m… serious about us.”_ he'd said. _“About you.”_

And, _“I'm serious about us, too.”_ Belle had said right back.

Rumford stepped closer to the mirror, and the wide spread of his lips caused them to part ever so slightly, revealing the tiniest glint of a tooth.

There was still that sheen to his skin too, that sweat, and he wiped his forehead. He pulled his hair out of his face too, rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide that foolish smile, but it only widened against his fingers.

Him and Belle.

_Serious._

He really ought to take a shower, but now–  where had he put them? His little soaps, that other bath bomb with that… that _scent._ The lavender, the black tea, the bergamot. The scent Belle had picked out for him. _Their_ scent.

Yes, yes. He would run a bath. Wrap himself up in as much _Belle_ as he possibly could. Soak in it!

Oh, if only she were here now! How he'd like to see that smile and kiss it!

He found his things under the bathroom sink, and he slipped out of his clothes and into the warm, fragrant tub he'd prepared.

The water ebbed and splashed around him as he went about his business, washing here, rinsing there. The way the water lapped against his neck and shoulders– so wet and warm and tingling– he could close his eyes and imagine the touch of Belle's delicate fingers as they brushed against him, the tickle of her hair falling on his shoulders.

He raised a hand out from the bath, and it splashed as it broke the surface– but there was this delay between what he felt and what he heard. It was as though the splash didn't belong to his hand, but to something– to _someone_ else.

 _Might Belle fit in the tub with him?,_ he thought.

Water dripped from his wrist as he brushed his wet hair from his neck, and he watched the path it took down his chest before returning to his private little sea. What else might travel that path?

A finger, maybe? A trail of kisses? A tongue?

Rumford shivered.

He bent his knees and sank deeper into the tub, until his chin was level with the water's surface. The movement had the water splash, splash, splashing against his lips in tiny waves, giving him wet little kisses.

He kissed it right back.

And when the water began to still, he started pedaling his hand through it so that those kisses could keep coming.

He began to laugh a quiet thing to himself, because how silly was _this?_

Silly, silly, silly.

Silly, silly man.

He laid his hands over his tummy and brushed his thumbs to and fro across his skin, over the ridge of each of his ribs. The bubbles and foam and had long since disappeared, and he could see his body through the water, distorted and rippling as it was.

Silly man _in love,_ he thought with a smile.

He could admit that much to himself now.

He let his hands slide further up, over his nipples. Grazed over them.

That night, at the inn. He'd wanted to think of her. Imagine it was her touch on his arms, his chest, his tummy.

It had seemed wrong then, but _now?_

These wonderful things he was feeling, were they not a kind of special gift that Belle had given him?

They were _serious_ now, after all.

And it would be rude to refuse a gift. Wouldn't it? To say, 'oh, how lovely, thank you so very much’-- only to then stash it away someplace and never use it? Forgotten?

He slid one of his hands down his stomach, and oh yes, there was that gift indeed. Part of it at least. The kind of small, intriguing box that was always affixed with ribbon atop a larger one. The box you were instructed to open last, so as not to spoil the contents of the other.

Rumford swallowed thickly. How was it, that he could be submerged in water, yet his mouth could be so dry?

He dragged his fingertips over the patch of curls there. Felt the thick, coarse hairs, and slowly strayed further down, to his cock.

He supposed he touched himself all the time– _technically._ In the shower? One had to keep things clean down there, of course.

But how long had it been since he'd _felt_ himself?

He began to move his fingers in small circles. _Just playing with the hair_ he told himself– while quietly delighting in the tingle it gave him every time those tiny circles brought his fingertips to the base of his cock.

He swirled his fingers, again and again, drifting away until he could no longer pretend that it was those hairs he was playing with. He gripped himself slowly, loosely. Small, easy steps.

He exhaled slowly, deeply. There was nothing filthy or shameful about this.

 _Slowly, slowly, slowly,_ he dragged his fingers from his base to his tip, and _Relax, relax, relax,_ he thought, closing his eyes.

He adjusted his position, sat up a bit because this wasn't comfortable, not with the edge of the tub digging into his neck just so, and the water splashed around him again.

He swallowed again, took his cock in his hand again, closed his eyes again. Exhaled.

_Belle._

The way they'd kissed the other night, on her couch. Oh, that had been lovely. That hand of hers, how it had slid around his neck. Her thumb, how it had brushed against his ear– such a thrill!

This estranged part of himself he held in his hand– it stiffened as he relived the special moment, one impression at a time. Belle, her perfume, roses… lips, the little breath of air slowly expelled through her little nose while they kissed… the sound of parting lips.... that soft, wet tongue as it slid over his... that hand, that thumb…

 _I'd like to kiss you,_ he'd said– and _I'd like to kiss you too,_ she'd said right back.

He was holding himself more firmly now, his movements more certain as he let himself enjoy them.  And his breaths– slowly through the nose, just like Belle's– how heavy they'd become!

Rumford swallowed and parted his lips, let his breaths come through his mouth as the ragged, desperate things they really were.

“Oh, Belle…” they whispered, _“Oh, Belle…”_

She'd reached to touch him where he now touched himself, and _oh, oh, oh…_ what if he'd let her?

What if he'd touched her back?

Would she have said his name the same way he was saying hers right now?

An _“Oh, Rumford…”_ breathed against his ear? Sending that electricity through his body again?

 _“Belle…”_ he exhaled again, and maybe one of those delicate hands would slide over his, guiding him, showing him how she liked to be touched.

 _“Is this alright?”_ he'd ask, so eager to oblige her, and she'd smile, and maybe she'd nod, _“Yes, that's it…”_ or maybe she'd pout, _“no, no–”_ too much of this, needs more of that. A gentle correction.

He pumped into his hand, slowly, and _oh!_ To be inside her! To be in her arms, to sink his cock into her warm, wet cunt. To be completely surrounded by _Belle_ in every possible way. Her sounds, her scent, her arms! But God, her cunt! To _feel_ her from the inside!

He brushed his arm over his forehead, because God, he was sweating again! The tension coiling between his legs was so terribly much, and he lifted his head, opened his eyes just a little to see his cock.

It was so hard and hot and eager under the cloudy, soapy water– and would Belle like it? To see him this way? Would she smile, lie back, and let him in?

 _No, no,_ he wiped his hand over his face again, over his upper lip, over his temple.

He'd spent too many nights being _let_ in by an indifferent lover. He wanted to be wanted. To see Belle take her pleasure _from him._ To be not the one who knocked, but the one who answered.

He swallowed again, and again. Panted. Closed his eyes. Relaxed and let himself remember how _he_ liked to be touched.

Oh, to see Belle atop him. To look up and see _her,_ looking down. To _hear_ her?

Hear her _say, “You look so handsome…”_

She'd said that to him before, he recalled, and he pumped into his fist again.

Yes, yes. _So handsome,_ she'd told him. _So cute! So sexy!_ _So modest!_

She liked that, she'd said! She liked _him!_

“Oh, Belle…”

What other sounds would she make as she rocked over him, taking her fill? Gasps, moans, panting breaths?

Yes, yes, he was finding his rhythm now. The rhythm of his hand, the rhythm of his hips, the rhythm of her name as it fell from his lips.

Over and over, _"Belle... Belle... Oh, Belle..."_

How incredible was she? How sweet, how kind, how beautiful?

Belle, with her book! Miss French– _not Mrs!–_ in her pretty blue dress and her pretty suede heels with the pretty thin straps around her pretty thin ankles!

The tiny waves had come back. Wet kisses landed on his chest, his arms, his shoulders, and–

 _“_ Oh, sweetheart…”

Belle, with that smile! Those pretty white teeth sinking into that pretty plump lip!

His grip on his cock tightened still, and would she tighten around him too? Her fingers, her arms, her legs, her cunt?

“God, Belle,” he nearly wept, and his hand continued to work, and close! He was so close!

 _I'd like to kiss you,_ he'd said– and _I'd like to kiss you too,_ she'd said right back.

_I'd like to kiss you too!_

_I'd like to kiss you too!_

_I'd like to kiss you–_

“Ah–!”

He sat up and it came out of him in spurts, the water splashing around him, lapping over the edge of the tub and into the tile floor.

“Oh, Belle,” he panted, relaxing back down into the tub again. “Oh, Belle…”

His heart thumped as he caught his breath, and the small gentle waves continued to rise and fall around him. He closed his eyes and smiled. Let himself imagine again. Imagine the brush of Belle's hand, the touch of her delicate fingers, the gentle press of her lips as she gave him a kiss.

 _“I’m… serious about us.”_ he'd said. _“About you.”_

And, _“I'm serious about us, too.”_ she'd said right back.


End file.
